Lauren Portrush Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Hmmmm, whore, you say? Think, I must, about this. Dark and twisty, the path is, like in *The Lives of Others*. "Listen and wait, we must," Gerd Wiesler’d say, spying on them shady folks. Whore, man, ain’t just a word—it’s a vibe, a hustle! Streets, they hum with it, shadowy corners whispering secrets. Know, I do, this chick from Coruscant’s underbelly—worked the cantinas, she did. Credits, she stacked, faster than a podracer! Angry, it made me, seein’ her used, tossed aside like bantha fodder. “Feelings, hmm, dangerous they are,” I’d mutter, pacing.

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I get to the church, and everyone’s already there. They’re all staring at me like I’ve just come from another planet. I’m outta breath, trying to explain why I’m late. “Sorry, folks! Had a sandcastle emergency!” They just laugh, and I’m like, “You think this is funny?” But honestly, it was a blast.

Royal Portrush golfer honoured with Blue Plaque